


in our bedroom after the war

by robotsdance



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bottom Jaime Lannister, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Subspace, Top Brienne of Tarth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance
Summary: Jaime Lannister is alive and likes to get pegged.





	1. Fast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'fast or slow', but I wrote both.

The snide remarks that have followed Brienne around her whole life have been given some slight variation since she and Jaime got married. Where once was crude speculation about who would desire such a hideous creature, now they sneer about how Jaime must like getting bent over and fucked so thoroughly he can’t walk the next day, among other things of course, but that’s the theme today’s group of people Brienne will stoically ignore has chosen.

Jaime straightens beside her and strides off in the direction of the carrying whispers. She doesn’t need to hear what Jaime is saying to know how the scene is unfolding. He is telling them off, the way he always does, quiet and viciously polite as he makes sure that they know if they were to speak of Brienne again in that way again he will destroy them and everything they love.

Brienne watches him from enough distance to not have to engage with the men with a mixture of affection and wary concern. Just once it would be nice to attend one of these functions without the simmering threat of Jaime killing some fool who disrespects her.

He returns to her side looking pleased with himself. The men he left in his wake look like they just faced the Stranger himself.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he cuts her off, “Can’t have people thinking they can say such things about my wife and remain amongst the living.”

“It seems they were speaking of you as well,” she adds delicately, “This time.”

He looks over at her then with that not-so-secret smile that makes her face hot with embarrassment. If Jaime could look a little less pleased it would save her a world of grief. Gods forbid anyone find out that yet another rumour about Jaime Lannister is true.

It had been Jaime’s idea, a request uttered so sincerely even she could not assume he was joking, and he was most certainly not joking, so they had talked about it. Brienne had never before considered the logistics of such a thing, but Jaime assured her it was well within the realm of achievable goals, and she confessed she found the possibility rather intriguing, to say the least. After that Jaime had done all of the work, commissioning the required items separately, lest anyone figure out exactly what they were for. Still, she’d been a little hesitant as she put the harness on and lay alongside him in their bed.

“I’ve never done this before,” he’d said, before the first time, in the same breath he said, “I trust you.” The memory sends a jolt of arousal through her that she knows he notices because he looks about ready to take her against the nearest wall. Or have her take him against the nearest wall. She’s learned what that look in his eyes means and she knows what to do with it.

She leads him aside with only the most courtly of touches on his arm. Once they are out of sight of prying eyes she presses him up against a wall, stands tall and leans over him so he has to lift his chin to meet her gaze. Then she tells him in no uncertain terms what she wishes to do to him upon their return to their bedchamber that evening.

His mouth falls open with a little sound that feels as sweet as any victory she’s ever won as he slides down the wall a couple of inches for good measure.

She holds him there long enough to make him forget where they are before she steps back and returns to where they are supposed to be. Jaime has to jog a few paces to catch up to her.

*

They barely manage to put in a polite showing. Jaime all but drags her from the room at the first opportunity to make their exit as they both give their warmest regards and sincerest regrets that they can not stay longer.

Jaime is torn between his need to get them into the privacy of their room and his need to touch her and Brienne grins against his eager mouth as he pulls them together for at least the fourth time as they stagger towards their destination. She glances in both directions for anyone who might witness this obscene display but they are alone so she kisses him back with all of the intention that’s thrumming through her veins.

He’s too consumed by her touch to notice the stairs behind him and she has to catch him as he trips and stumbles backwards. His laughter is soft against her neck as he clings to her as she holds him upright until he’s regained his footing, but he looks just as likely to lose it again when she tells him, “Get upstairs. Now.”

He turns back to her as he opens the door to their room, claiming her mouth with his own again as she guides them over the threshold and closes the door securely behind them, a feat made more impressive by the fact that Jaime is doing his best to undress them both without delay. His enthusiasm is not translating to efficiency in this regard so she takes control, throwing him to the bed with instructions to prepare himself.

There’s no grace or elegance in the way Jaime struggles with his clothes on the bed, wrestling himself out anything that would keep his skin from hers. Beside their bed Brienne undresses methodically, watching him with wry amusement as he kicks and shimmies his way out of layer after layer, tossing each aside in turn. When she goes to gather the supplies they will need this evening he stops what he’s doing to stare at her, his eyes dark and focused as she places a vial of oil on the bedside table and then fastens the harness securely on her hips with precision born of experience.

Jaime swallows.

She tosses the vial to him and he catches it in his left hand cradled against his chest. Looks up at her and understands.

Her instruction still stands.

Prepare himself.

Even with his hand shaking slightly, he manages to get the top of the vial off with his thumb and then offers it to her. She takes it from him and tips it so the slick liquid pours over his fingers. He whispers his thanks and she leans over him to kiss him in response, unable to help herself. Then she straightens and he gets to work.

She should make him do this more often, she thinks as she stands beside the bed and watches him take to his task with fervour.

*

There is no hesitation or shame in the way she stands and watches him work himself open for her. Even when she initially agreed to try this, she’d had no idea how comfortable she would be wearing such a thing. It hadn’t been like that right from the beginning, but it hadn’t taken long for her to feel the extension as a part of her.

She smiles at the memory of that first cautious rock of her hips, the breathless gasp it had drawn from Jaime, the burst of lust as the base nudged against her just _there_. Her cock. Inside Jaime. Hers to wield and enjoy and fuck him with to their mutual satisfaction. Jaime claims to have seen the exact moment of ownership flicker across her face as she fucked him. Says he thinks of it fondly. Often.

She realizes she’s stroking her cock with easy familiarity when she notices the way Jaime is staring. She stills. Waits. Waits until Jaime looks up at her face with his pupils blown and then she does it again with unmistakable intention.

On the bed Jaime moans.

*

Only when he is ready, so desperate for her he’s panting on his own fingers, does she get into bed beside him. His hand, still slick with oil, passes over her cock as he kisses her hungrily. He pulls her down on top of him with a needy growl that goes straight to her core.

It would be so easy to press him into the mattress and take him as she had so many times before, but instead she rolls over and pulls him with her so he’s on top, straddling her waist. His eyes catch hers and there’s distinct amusement in his tone when he asks, “Oh?”

This isn’t how they usually do this, but gods, the idea of Jaime riding her makes her fierce with desire that has her aching for him. So she tells him that as best she can, and when words fail her she pulls him close to kiss him to let him feel how much she wants this. Wants him.

Jaime looks dazed when the kiss breaks, manages to respond with a simple “Oh” so packed with wonder she almost has to look away from him.

Her hands roam his body freely as he gets into position above her. His thighs are tense under her calloused fingers, his hips ready and waiting for her guiding hand. Slight pressure as she passes her thumb over his hipbone and then he lowers himself down in one swift motion.

He fucks himself onto her hard. Brutal. Relentless. She wouldn’t fuck him so hard so fast but he has no such hesitation. He knows what he wants and there are times she still can’t believe that it’s this. That it’s her.

He’s whimpering in no time.

Jaime falls forward, collapsing towards her touch. He braces himself on his right arm and works his cock with his left hand as he continues to shove himself back onto her with ruthless abandon. When he falters, losing his rhythm, she holds his head between her hands and presses their foreheads together as his breath stutters hot against her lips.

He’s trembling above her and around her and her body is alight with desire, with the power he gives her so freely is intoxicating. He trusts her so completely, like no one else ever has. Like no one else ever will.

Brienne runs her hands through his hair and then back down his body, all the while speaking a string of truths that come out in the form of praise and confessions and encouragement. Things that once upon a time she never dreamed she’d be able to tell him under any circumstance, much less ones so mutually favourable. He shudders under her touch, her words, her desire.

She can feel his desperation almost as if it is her own but his position is making it hard for him to get the friction he craves so Brienne guides him so he is sitting upright once again. He arches his back, sways his hips side to side before working the new angle with renewed urgency as his hand goes for his cock once again.

“Love,” he gasps as his head tips back, exposing his neck to her before his head tilts forward again, “Love you.”

Brienne hums in appreciation of his words, of the view, of the feel of him fucking himself on her hard enough for every stroke to send her closer to the edge. She passes her right hand over his chest, his heart drumming against his ribcage, right into her palm. Her other hand is back on his hip. She watches a bead of sweat slide down his golden skin.

“Mmmmm,” he echoes, but it slips into a little whimper and then her name over and over and over as he works his hips faster still. His right wrist is on her hand that’s holding onto his hip and he’s pressing against it like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

He is taut with tension but his surrender to this, to her, is so absolute she can feel it in her bloodstream. She knows his body, knows him. She knows exactly what it means as his thrusts get shallower as his hips lift and fall in precise movements that mirror the frantic way he’s working his cock with his hand.

He is so close.

He is so beautiful.

And he is hers.

Jaime lifts himself up just enough for her to slide out completely as he spills with spectacular enthusiasm, spattering both of them with his seed before he collapses against her chest. Brienne loves that he doesn’t move to brace himself, just lets his full weight lie boneless against her. He knows she can support his weight. Knows she likes to.

Brienne’s hands trail up and down his back in lazy movements as he nuzzles his face against the side of her head, all affection and reverence. He’s saying something but it’s mostly just her name.

In a moment (or five, based on how far gone he is) he’s going to come to enough to work his way down her body and paw at the harness until either he gets it off her or she steps in to speed up the process (he’s capable of undoing the straps, but perhaps not in his current state) and then he will make sure she knows exactly how grateful he is.

And it’s not that she’s not looking forward to that (she is, oh how she is), but right now she holds him close, sticky and sweaty and spent, and revels in his solid weight on her.


	2. Slow

It’s the end of a perfectly unremarkable day, no less pleasant for its routine, but unremarkable all the same. That Jaime’s life could be filled with such pleasant mundaneness is still a marvel to him. Then Brienne gets into bed beside him just as she did the day before, and the days before that and Jaime amends his earlier thought. Any day that involves this is a far cry from unremarkable.

Neither of them almost died today, Jaime thinks as he looks at her. Not even a little. Remarkable. Astounding even.

She leans over to him, kissing his grin without asking for the reason for it. He shifts a little closer to her to better return the favour. This continues at a leisurely pace until quite suddenly she climbs on top of him and pins his wrists down against their bed on either side of his head. Hard.

Jaime feels his blood run slow and heavy the moment she leans her weight down into him.

He exhales her names and looks up at her. She’s watching him intently, her blue eyes curious and focused. It’s almost the same way she looks at him when they’re sparring, still learning his body, mapping his reactions. Not that he is difficult to interpret, his obvious interest in this turn of events is jutting up against her thigh.

She kisses him softly, a gentle reassurance against her unforgiving grip. He sighs as he feels his body yield to her already, melting beneath her touch. His legs spread apart by their own accord, already trying to welcome her where he wants her. Needs her. She smiles.

“You’re so predictable,” she murmurs against his neck.

He grins up at her. Her merciful strength, her stunning power, leaves him breathless. Always.

So when Brienne says, “Let me take care of you tonight,” it’s the easiest thing in the world to agree.

As always, Jaime wants to lie beneath her and yield and yield and yield.

*

She undresses him first. Lets him writhe naked beneath her still fully clothed body as they kiss (and kiss and kiss and). Only when he’s arching against her with shameless desperation does she pull back and say, “Stay.”

She waits until he nods his consent before she moves off him and begins to undress and ready herself for what they both want.

When she returns her cock brushes against his as she settles herself between his spread thighs.

*

She’s been teasing him open for an age, holding him down with one hand, working him open with the other, and he is ready. Her slick fingers meet no resistance as they slide in and out of him again and again. He grits his teeth (again), bites his lip (again), squirms against her hand (again). He is beyond ready, and he knows she knows it. His body has no secrets from her, least of all under these circumstances.

She curls her fingers just so and his cock twitches as a less than dignified whine escapes him.

Jaime’s not above begging. And Brienne has been known to respond to such tactics.

*

Brienne lifts his legs so they’re over her shoulders and then she leans back over him again, kissing his desperate pleas from his mouth as her cock grazes against him. She moves his arms into a better position and pins them back down with a firm squeeze and he groans. Gods he loves when she rearranges his body to better suit her. He should feel helpless, beneath her like this, open and exposed and vulnerable, but he doesn’t. He’s never felt as safe as he does when he’s with her. Not ever. He relaxes with the truth of it.

He’s never been more ready for her to take him. So he tells her how much he wants her. Needs her. Needs to feel her inside him. Now. Please. Brienne. _Please_.

And Brienne is many things, but she is not cruel, so she gives him what he needs.

His feet flex and curl helplessly somewhere over her shoulders when she pushes in and then pulls almost all the way out. When she eases back in he tries to remember how to breathe as his whole body sparks with pleasure.

The rhythm she chooses tonight is near torture. He feels every inch of her as she drags pleasure from his body at a leisurely pace, watching him give in to the anguish of slow.

And it’s so much. Too much. Already. Every sensation amplified. Pleasure beyond endurance. He’s not sure he can take it. The controlled momentum of her thrusts is already driving him mad. Too much and not enough all at once. He needs more and less and—

He’s already speaking exclusively in obscenities and her name.

*

He knows she’s close when she grinds against him, moving her hips in a tight circle. The harness he had made is designed to stimulate her as much as him and he’s well-versed in recognizing when it is having the intended effects. He knows how wet she must be, longs to get his fingers between where the harness meets her flesh but she’s still holding him down so he says her name instead.

She shoves her hips against him harder and he grins. She must be very close indeed. Knowing that fucking him senseless does this to her makes the air catch in his lungs. Gods, what could he possibly have done to deserve her?

She’s so astonishing and his blood is on fire watching her about to come above him and if could just get his hand on his cock he would be right there with her but that’s obviously not what she intends because she’s leaning over him, holding him firmly in place—

Her grip tightens on his wrists as she comes.

He is helpless to do anything but watch her, so watch her he does. Watches her give herself over to what they do to each other, and after, she releases his right wrist. Only his right wrist.

He touches her face with his free arm. Clumsily pushes a strand of sweat-soaked hair off her forehead as she breathes. Then she smiles down at him, wicked intention in her eyes.

She’s still got his left hand pinned securely to the bed and there is no urgency in her movements as she pulls out and slides back into his willing body as slowly as she can manage. He all but screams her name in response.

*

He sobs. He yields. He begs.

She still doesn’t let him finish.

There’s a word he could speak and she would. A word they agreed upon for just such scenarios. If it ever passed from his lips she would stop in a heartbeat and make sure he got what he needed, whatever that was. And he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt she would honour it.

He does not speak the word.

He does not want her to stop.

There is not a place in the world he would rather be than right here, right now.

With her.

*

The edge is maddening, pleasure and pain combined as he’s never known. She wields it as well as her sword and it is agony. Perfect agony. She couldn’t dismantle him more thoroughly with a thousand valyrian steel swords.

He sinks into the submission of it more fully than he ever imagined he could. His vision goes hazy as everything but Brienne blurs out of existence. Blissful oblivion claims him as surely as Brienne does.

“Stay here Jaime. Stay right here with me.”

He blinks up at her. Her bright eyes are clear and looking straight into his. His body feels heavy and warm and wonderful. The urgency of lust and need has shifted into exquisite surrender. She has him. She has him completely, utterly at her mercy. And she will release him when it is time.

Overwhelming awareness of _safe_ and _trust_ and _Brienne_ surges through him as he drifts through every sensation she is wringing from his body as he lies beneath her. He can not find the words for anything he is experiencing right now, can only feel and feel and feel as she moves in him.

Still he tries, unable to contain it any longer, slurred syllables of love and devotion tumbling from him in tongues.

She squeezes his wrist and he wants to cry in relief because she understands.

Brienne understands.

*

The world is long gone and there is only her. Only Brienne. Brienne holding him down. Brienne watching him. Touching him. Kissing him. Fucking him. Trusting him. Loving him. Always Brienne. Only Brienne.

Brienne.

Brienne Brienne Brienne.

*

It is a great mercy, a glorious gift, when she finally (finally finally finally) moves to take his cock in hand.

Her touch is all the permission he needs but she gives him more. Soft words that guide him to let go, his name spoken like she was meant to call for him like this.

He tries to answer but he’s crumbling beneath her, around her, shaking apart at the seams. The wrist she isn’t holding down drags against the bed, phantom fingers clawing at the sheets as he thrashes helplessly against her solid grip as he spasms and loses all sense of himself.

*

When Jaime comes back to his body enough to be aware of more than the cresting aftershocks that still tremor through him he’s flat on his back. His legs are back on the bed, no longer slung over Brienne’s shoulders. When he opens his eyes he finds Brienne lying to his left. She’s propped up on one elbow watching him with a tenderness he still fears he doesn’t deserve. Her hand is resting on the middle of his ribcage, rising and falling with each steadying breath he takes.

He can’t speak yet, but he brings his hand so it covers hers, holding it against his chest.

“Jaime,” Brienne says, pressing a kiss to his forehead and then another to his lips, “My Jaime.”

 _Yes_ , his heart pounds, _Yours_.


End file.
